Welcome to the Jungle
by Gastogh
Summary: Dramatized scenes from the early stages of the Serpent's Skull campaign.
1. Chapter 1: A Matter of Attitude

After the sky had lightened enough for reading, the rest of Niero's early-morning shift passed swiftly enough in poring over his scrolls and updating his diary. The others began to pick themselves up soon after, the more martially inclined being the first and the aristocrats and Gelik being last.

The mood in the camp was subdued after the night's events. Gelik in particular had not taken well to a dead goat suddenly crashing into their campfire in the dead of night. Sujiu had tried to pass it off as a stroke of luck – a free delivery of food – but the bard was having none of it. His faintheartedness was strongly failing to impress anyone in the group, not that anyone was feeling particularly inspired to challenge his assessment of the jungle island as the 'dreariest and most disturbing locale for an adventure this side of Brevoy.'

Wherever Brevoy was.

Still, most of the others, who themselves were not strictly enthusiastic over their prospects, had at least resigned themselves to focusing on the positive. The liveliness of the camp picked up to its usual, modest morning bustle, with Sujiu and Mogashi consulting with Jask and Sasha about their supplies and scouting plans and Malje striving to make it seem like every suggestion they decided on was done on her sole authority. There was a promise of normalcy in the air.

Normalcy for Smuggler's Shiv.

Perhaps there would be some more oversized beasts that were underscared of people. Perhaps they would manage to harvest some tropical diseases from the jungle.

Or maybe they would meet some more cannibals.

Inwardly, Niero threatened to wax poetic about the ardency of his dislike of the island. May it rot in hell and disappear off the face of the world.

After _he_ was off _it_.

lIlIl

When the band of scourging rangers of untameable jungles that was their scouting party returned to camp _very late_ that day, having met oversized animals and ghouls _and_ cannibals _and_ _more_, Niero was waiting – just _waiting_ for some sorry soul to ask him how his day had been.

No one did. Such was life.

Of course, it did spare him the indignity of a whiny diatribe he could not have quelled. Mogashi had almost been killed – twice – and still looked like something that you would not feed even to starving hogs. Compared to their Mwangi guide, Niero knew he had it easy, but he managed to be only distantly appreciative for the fact. In his opinion, he was badly enough off to warrant a good, raging spiel.

Instead of a good, raging spiel, Niero settled for a brief, cool shower, courtesy of Malje. One of these days the half-elf would realize that Niero irked her off for the express purpose of procuring said showers. It sure beat stooping to ask for favors.

Munching on python-kebab and drying too slowly in the tropical night air, Niero spotted Aerys, recently cured of the worst of her withdrawal problems, sitting off to the side at the edge of the firelight with a quill and a scroll. He did not recall them being part of the gear he had salvaged from the _Jenivere_ with Mogashi and Sujiu.

To himself, Niero silently prayed that this new turn of events was a viable and sustainable substitute to the previous practice of libation the group had been forced to engage in in order to keep the woman moderately cooperative.

Niero marched up to her and, by way of greeting, snapped off an impromptu salute somewhere between an act of reverent obeisance and a crassly suggestive gesture. One worked with what life armed one with.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Aerys looked up and eyed him over neutrally, which was an improvement in itself. Then, after a moment, "Writing." She turned back to her scroll.

"A diary, is it? Is it drained-of-blood monkeys time in there yet, or are ya startin' off from the start, with the shipwreck an' all?"

"No diary. Just something I work on now and then, on and off... Poems."

_Oh?_

"Oh? Didn't know ya had an artistic streak." She made no response to that, so after a moment Niero followed up with, "Can I see 'em? That is – if they're not personal?"

Aerys looked at him with an only mildly threatening glare for a moment. Just when Niero had begun to wonder about the phrasing of her imminent refusal, she shrugged. "Sure." And she held out the scroll.

Niero took it, went to sit down closer to the fire, and began to read.

lIlIl

_A one who past their closest weakness sees_

_Need not possess a strength to equal those_

_Who govern all the planes the way they please;_

_Endeavor spiting odds more courage shows_

_Than confronting Pharasma's fate, reserved_

_For every mortal victim that defies_

_To persevere and stave off all deserved_

_Requitals and rewards the gods devise._

_Attend, though, not to sacrifice resolve_

_For easy resolution, favoring_

_Evasion over fortitude to wield;_

_For all our hardest lessons do involve_

_Both tragedy and triumph: savoring_

_To hurt, to fail, to lose – yet never yield._


	2. Chapter 2: The Quality of Mercy

"We have to do something about this," Sujiu said into the silence, such as it was.

Four pairs of eyes glared at them maliciously from snarling faces marked by similarities born of inbreeding. The four women they found in the tower were all unarmed and barely clothed, and had bared their sharp, filed teeth and begun hissing at them as soon as they entered. Kailn could hardly blame them. The way their band appeared right now – filthy with gore and weapons in hand – would have elicited hisses from anyone, including wild animals.

There had been a long moment of tense staring when Niero, Sujiu, Mogashi, Malje and Kailn first barged into the room. They had waited to see if one of the cannibal tribe's women would produce a hidden weapon from somewhere and attack, but they had not. Even so, the cannibals were still clawing at air and everyone with a weapon was holding it tightly. Niero had attempted to speak to them, but they were not interested in speaking.

Which left them in their current situation. No one had answered Sujiu yet, so he went on.

"We can't turn them loose, they'd be at our throats before the first night's out. Should we just kill them?"

"Oy, I think we gone and done enough murderin' for the day, eh?" Niero interjected with a none too pleased expression.

"We could keep them as slaves," Malje suggested eagerly. "When we leave, we can take them with us, sell them in the first port and make a fair sum of it."

"Who did you think to sucker into buying one of _them_?" Sujiu shot back, indicating the savages, for there were no euphemisms for the bunch. Even at that moment, one was spitting at them, staining herself as much the floor. "I'm not much interested in becoming a slaver, either," he finished.

Malje might have argued the sentiment, except that from their expressions, the others seemed similarly predisposed. She shrugged and let it drop. She was not about to start serving future slaves herself, of course. "Fine. So we keep them here and set them loose to fend for themselves when a ship picks us up."

Sujiu gave a slight shake of his head. "It's unlikely these ones could survive on their own. And anyway, they can't stay here."

"Why not?" Niero retorted. "Th'room's kept them in place well enough so far, hasn'it?" Judging by their paleness, the women had not seen sunlight too many times in their lives. Beyond that, the room also _stank_.

"I don't think we can spare the food, and we'd have to keep a guard on them. We'd need to go through here every time we want to get to the uppermost level, where the lighthouse's lamp will be, and we can't move them into any other building because – well. You saw those shacks."

"The ground floor did have stairs leading down," Kailn observed. "If nowhere else, we could take them there."

There was a moment of silence. "True enough, but even if there's another lockable door down there, that doesn't solve the other issues."

"We can't feed four new mouths," Mogashi weighed in. "They may also be carrying strange diseases. Whoever guards them would be exposed." The Mwangi had been looking oddly uncomfortable about the whole business, Kailn noted.

"So just take them downstairs and leave them there to rot," Malje said, growing impatient. "I won't be serving them food or spending my days sitting in some dank dungeon to keep an eye on them. Let them eat each other, no skin off our backs."

"That's little better than torturing them to let ourselves feel good. If it's going to come to that, better to kill them ourselves. It'd spare them a slow death," Sujiu said, all too calmly in Kailn's opinion.

"Why's it seem like you're really, really determined to be murderin' these folk?" Niero muttered.

Sujiu glanced at him in annoyance. "Look, if you want to be the one guarding these..." he motioned at the four wild-women, _still_ hissing, and left the thought unfinished, "...or if you think you can convince one of the others to help you with that, I'm not going to stop you. But you're not going to be doing them favors by letting them die over days or weeks of starvation and living off each other."

Niero threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. Can't say as you're wrong on any particular point... But you can do it yourself. I'm washin' my hands of this." He left the room through a door that would lead to the top of the building.

"Me too," Mogashi grunted, and followed the Varisian. The four members of the cannibal chieftain's personal harem watched them go with confused suspicion but only slightly abated hostility.

Sujiu did not call after them – which Kailn found unsurprising – but he did not even glare after them, which _was_ somewhat surprising. As far as Kailn could discern, the man was only slightly more tense than a moment ago. He turned to him and Malje. "Kailn, can you make them sleep?"

The sorcerer shook his head. "No. My apologies." He was not much good with weapons, and was eyeing the door less discreetly than he might have.

Sujiu merely nodded. "Very well. Malje?"

"Go ahead," the half-elf woman said and strolled out of the room with her spear, unfazed. Kailn went with her, shooting an apologetic glance behind him. He closed the heavy, wooden door behind them with a _clunk,_ leaving Sujiu facing the four scrawny, unarmed cannibal women alone with his rapier.

Niero and Mogashi had not gone far. They were looking out at the sea over the balustrade of solid stone that wound upwards around the lighthouse. It was barely low enough that Kailn could see over it, but he went to it and tried to focus on the sea. It was not yet midday and the worst of the heat was yet to come, and this high up there was a pleasant breeze in the air. The noon sun sparkled white in the dark blue expanse of a sea that spread into the far horizon.

However, only a moment or two after the door closed, the screams began, and afterwards Kailn could not remember seeing much of the sea.

lIlIl

Later that day, when the survivors had relocated their camp to the cannibals' place of residence and the worst of the tribe's offences against civilization had been put to the torch, life was mostly back to normal. Flames were dancing in a firepit in the middle of the camp and everyone was still awake aside from Niero, Mogashi and Gelik, who had late guard shifts to look forward to. Aerys was scribbling in her scroll, Malje was talking with Jask, Ishirō was brooding at the edge of the firelight and fingering his blade, Sasha was talking to Pezock the _tengu_ and thus unavailable, and Sujiu was cleaning his arrows with meticulous care. Kailn was thinking about the day.

It was as Niero had said, really. _Can't disagree on any particular point._ So was he stupid, then, to still feel that it just did not _sit well_? Was it really good that a man should be able to kill four unarmed people and not bat an eye, just because it was necessary?

He glanced at Sujiu out of the corner of his eye. The archer had a huge bundle of arrows by him and was going through them one at a time, holding their fletching lightly between his fingers and stroking out any minute particles of dirt. Kailn did not know how often he actually found anything in there that could severely impair the flight of an arrow, but it was a ritual the archer went through almost daily. From looking at him it was immediately obvious that his thoughts were elsewhere.

Now that he thought about it, Kailn could hardly remember seeing Sujiu awake and without something in his hands at all times, usually a weapon. Was it about always having the answer at hand, Kailn wondered. A master key to open or close all doors? A solution to every problem?

He remembered the way the half-elf had looked when he came out of that room in the lighthouse, drenched in blood and breathing hard but with an expression little different from what he always wore. No one had said anything as he dragged out four bodies, some punctured through the heart or an eye and a couple with snapped necks, and proceeded to push them over the edge of the balustrade. One of the bodies had slipped from his hands, slick with blood as they were, and he had to try twice to get it over.

Kailn had cast a minor spell to cleanse him of the worst without being asked. The half-elf had thanked him in an even voice and they had all continued up the stairs to see what there was to be done about the lamp.

When they returned to camp to get the rest of their group, no one had volunteered the specifics of what had taken place in the lighthouse. It was well enough, though, as the others never pressed them for details. Having already seen more battle than he ever intended in his life, Kailn had a feeling he understood why.

What he still wanted to understand was what Sujiu thought about the whole affair. Having had enough of mulling it over in his head, Kailn decided to go and ask.

He rose and walked over. "Hello, Sujiu."

Sujiu looked up. "Hello, Kailn. Can I help you with something?" A degree of formality came easily to both of them, though Kailn rather doubted that Sujiu had ever been a butler. Interesting, that.

Kailn sat down. Protocol and pleasantries had ever been a central part of his life, but for all the halfling's desire to maintain connections to a more civilized world, on the jungle island they felt out of place. Still, a certain degree of tact was to be adhered to in conversational intercourse.

Kailn spoke quietly so as not to be overheard. "I was only wondering what your thoughts were on this past day." He did not have to specify which part. "I didn't get the impression that you were eager for things to go like they did, but you also seemed quite unperturbed after they did."

Sujiu did not answer immediately, and spoke slowly when he did. "My thoughts... I had thought to be discussing this with Niero, but maybe he came to similar conclusions as I did, over the day... Well." He put away an arrow and picked up a new one. "Anyway. My thoughts are what I said aloud back there, and involving the rest of the camp in a vote would not, I think, have changed much. It was the best thing to do, I'd say."

"Would you say it was the right thing?"

"Is it ever the _right thing_ for anything to live at the expense of something else? I'm not a philosopher, I can't really _dissert_ the _particulars_. Suffice to say it was necessary and the best I could think of, and there was little argument."

"Fair enough," Kailn allowed. Perhaps the soldier was not a philosopher, but there were definitely un-grunt-like elements to his vocabulary.

They sat a while in silence. Most of the others were turning in by now. "May I inquire as to one more thing?"

"Inquire away," Sujiu said.

"When you say it was for the best, were you thinking only of us, of them as well?"

"Them as well," was the reply.

"And what makes you so sure it was?"

"There's many ways to the same end. Those four were headed down a bad one of slow starvation or being mauled by some beast in the jungle if set loose. They showed no sign of having been out to hunt or even being out of the room for a long time." Sujiu was quiet for a moment. "Battlefield mercy, I suppose... A kind that doesn't end happily, but is no less valid for it."

"All right," Kailn said and rose to his feet. "Thank you for answering my questions. Good night."

"Good night."

When Kailn had gone, Sujiu rose and began to stretch. It was night by then, and he had first watch.


	3. Chapter 3: A Child of the Mother

One raised in the jungle learned to respect its ways and know his place in it, but that did not erase ambition or the slow burn of vendetta. The endless stream of warnings and reproaches from the elders had only served to fan the flames. "Seek to take more from the land than it gives, and it will take your hands; walk out of your place and lose your legs; no winners, only survivors." On and on, like that.

However, for some – like him – the matter was more personal. He wanted the beasts to flee from _him_, to be the stalker that imbued darkness with primal fear in the minds of all that lived, and to see eye to eye with the Mother's most savage child when he gazed in the pooling blood of an enemy. He wanted to wrap his hands around the Mother's throat and _squeeze,_ to wring the life out of whatever adversary set itself against him, and walk where he will.

But you did not hold dengue fever in your claws, and you did not see reflections of glory in the pooling blood of minuscule, poisonous insects.

And that rankled Mogashi deeply.

When the true lords of the jungle walked, the land held its breath. Around the strongest beasts it would grow silent with fearful reverence, like a tribesman bowing his head at the approach of a strong chieftain. That was the respect the jungle awarded a true warrior.

It did not grow silent at their approach. When a beast approached their band, they would hear it in the silence that followed another, not them. Not him.

And toxic plants, lethal mushrooms and stagnant, disease-ridden ponds did not fear anything. In short, the Mother cheated all her challengers: either of their lives, or their challenge.

The outlanders called the Mother many things. They called her a hell and pined uselessly after better things, rotting as they dreamed. They spoke of glorious fights with beasts and spoke of a warzone, mistaking the battle for the war, the victory for the end. They sang songs of appeasement and rattled off curses and told themselves that something benevolent was listening. Some few even named it a primordial cradle, when there was nothing primordial or cradle-like to it. There was only a pile of corpses growing taller and deeper by the day as life struggled to defeat and consume itself in an insatiable cycle of cannibalism.

No, there were no cradles, just a foothold won with the reach of an arm and the point of a weapon, your own or an ally's. Everything one had was forcibly wrested from another. Life in the deep green was not a personal contest of strength against the forces of nature, for the Mother did not tailor her challenges to her children's abilities. Nature was the ageless chieftain that, if challenged to a wrestling match, does not throw you into the ground but plops in your face in the misstep of a tiny, brightly-colored frog, lethal to the touch.

Mogashi growled in frustration. His folk fancied that they "knew better than to fight the Mother." Instead, they fought outsiders, enslaved anything and everything that would not sooner gnaw off its limbs than be bound, and mated with the spirit beings they professed to revere. It was convenient enough, as excuses went for bullying nobodies, fucking demons and lazing about in their own filth. However, while he did not mind taking advantage of the status his "holy" blood awarded him from time to time, slapping insignificant flies around was not how Mogashi intended to spend his days.

Winning the campsite from the cannibal tribe had been a worthy conquest. He could only hope that there would be more of the kind. Ripping apart men strong enough to hold their own against the Mother and her lesser children was most satisfying. The camp had not bowed to them, so they had crushed the whole tribe. They had _made_ their own silence, and in a way, that was the finest outcome of all.

A log in the fire behind him burst with a sharp _crack_, loud in the susurrating silence. Mogashi took no more mind than the ensemble of nocturnal creatures that went on hooting, screeching, hissing, snarling, yipping and clacking outside the flickering light that marked their little piece of turf. Until the end of his watch, he waited for something of the Mother's to creep forth and encroach on it.


	4. Chapter 4: Those Left Behind

When the day was over, an elder evil that had been casting its pall on Smuggler's Shiv for millenia had been defeated. More bloodthirsty beasts had been slain, the last remnants of the cannibal tribe had been disposed of, and treasure had been accumulated. They had even found a potion to cure Jask of his illness.

It had been a day of triumph.

They had crawled through an ancient temple of forgotten gods, at times on their faces and at times at the points of the weapons of their enemies. The wounds they took in the course of these endeavors were becoming a given, barely warranting mention.

Niero, desiring to show Kailn up for an unkind observation on his skills with traps, had walked face-first into a curse that made a bat-man of him. Now he was sporting unusable leather wings where his human arms used to be, as well as long, razor-like fangs and clawed feet that made walking a chore. There was also a pair of long, drooping bat-ears that gave his countenance the mien of a whipped dog, and his staring, abnormally large eyes made him look like a stoned and disturbed prank creation of Lamashtu. There had been absolutely _no end_ to Mogashi's mirth, and Niero had found himself able to refrain from vitriolic comebacks solely on account of the lisping speech provided by his buck-toothed vampire mouth, which only made the Mwangi laugh harder.

It had been a day of hardship and setbacks – if also delight for Mogashi.

Still, they were alive, and, as far as anyone could tell, they had no surviving enemies.

Their group had traveled as swiftly as they could on their way back from the Red Mountain to their camp, but the going had been slow. It was already dark out when they left the serpent temple behind, and they had walked two or three hours since then. And when they did return, they had stumbled on almost to the middle of the camp before realizing where they were.

There was no fire and no watcher to hail them, and the camp was missing three buildings, which had been replaced by smoking heaps. There was blood on the ground, and they did not have to look far to find the bodies of two cannibal tribesmen and a harpy. Of the others there was no sign, but a few calls brought them forth from the lighthouse where they had barricaded themselves.

Ishirō had explained that the attack had come suddenly, and there were two casualties. Jask Derindi had been caught in one of the burning buildings and unable to get out due to his paralyzing disease. Gelik had tried to drag him out, but the building had collapsed on them.

So now Niero was holding in hand a panacea, and the person who could have used it was already dead. And so too was the gnome, the _only other person in the group who had any noteworthy grasp of medicine_, and that only because the task of hauling out a grown, unconscious man fallen to him, of all people. When Ishirō told them what got Gelik, Niero thought it an exploit worthy of sainthood that he did not kick the lot of them into the sea right then and there.

It was probably for the best that he was too tired to argue just then. Time enough to sort everything out tomorrow... Or later today, as the case probably was.

lIlIl

Later that day, they buried Jask and Gelik. It had been raining without cease since the previous night, but now that all nine of the survivors – including Pezock – were cooped up in the lighthouse, there was no shortage of volunteers for hard, physical, outdoor labor, even if it was grave-digging in a downpour. Also, most of them simply wanted it _done_, rather than stare at the remains of what used to be the cannibal village's shrine and wait for the rains to pass.

Aerys managed to salvage some modicum of dignity for the hasty burial by writing a eulogy. The recital was left to Kailn, who, in the absence of both bard and priest, was deemed best suited to the task. He spoke well, though they had trouble hearing him over the deluge that, coupled with the storm winds, was even then washing away parts of the small village.

Eight days later – five days after the torrential rains stopped – a ship sailed into view.

Before they left Smuggler's Shiv behind for good, Aerys pinched a scroll case from the group's inventory. While the others were carrying off their huge treasure chest filled with gold and silver, she carved a hole in the tree nearest to where Jask and Gelik lay buried. She placed the scroll case in the hole, and in it she left a copy of the poem written in their memory.

lIlIl

Hear, uncaring cliffs and coastline windy;

Behold, you eyeless soul and dividing deep;

Gelik Aberwhinge and Jask Derindi –

These two, our friends, to you consigned to keep.

In memory relinquished to repose

Let my intent linger long, to remind

Us, leaving with our lives, to honor those

Who in this deathly race were left behind.

May they that yet remain assailed – beset

At every turn by hardship – bear that weight

Rememb'ring higher costs, and not forget

You, after life alight'd in restful state.

All people passing by this dear-bought place

Will ever owe you for your short-cut days.


	5. Chapter 5 : Fun and Games in Eleder

Getting rid of the bat-curse had been easy enough once they made it past the city gates. Mogashi had howled himself to tears at Niero's attempt at explaining himself to a bunch of guards who surely could not _possibly_ have looked more dubious. When it turned out that they had not even realized Niero's lisping was supposed to be language, Mogashi had fallen to the ground gasping. Kailn had eventually managed to explain the situation to the satisfaction of the authorities, and all it took after that was a fat purse, which Niero had. Ominously enough, the cleric of Sarenrae he approached about his curse did not even bat an eye at his condition. "See worse every few weeks" and a shrug were his exact reply before taking Niero's money and fixing his problem.

Their merry band had each gone their separate ways, and even parted on more or less good terms on top of that. Aerys, Sasha, Mogashi and Ishirō had divulged some basic instructions on how to reach them in case any _prospects_ turned up. Sujiu had enlisted with a mercenary company and was now on his way to Kalabuto, guarding a caravan. Malje and Kailn were staying with Malje's family, living the easy life. Niero, on the other hand, had set his sights higher, for he had a map.

A treasure map.

He had a reasonably strong conviction that the area depicted in the map was somewhere in the Mwangi Expanse. A lesser soul might have been deterred by the odds, but Niero was determined, and that was why he was now heading for the largest library in Eleder. And anyway, how hard could it be? His scrap of parchment held a name, and clearly described certain geological features that it should be a simple matter to pinpoint. Find a collection of maps, conduct some etymological research, and voilà.

Niero hoped that wherever his goal turned out to be, it would not be too far. Or, barring that, he hoped it would not be guarded or inhabited or otherwise polluted by the presence of any kind of eldritch evil whatsoever. Those really were_ the worst_.

The library was easy enough to find, and a talk with the Head Librarian – an elven man by the name of Something-too-hard-to-pronounce and who preferred to be called by any one of his titles rather than his name – had assured Niero that he could, indeed, find what he was after here. He might have spent a fraction of his newfound riches on hiring one of the assistant scribes to do his book-mining for him, but the fees they charged were so large Niero had to remind himself that this was a land were slavery was legal and being in a market meant being marked. And so, after having graciously declined their offer, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

The first day of his research was promising.

The second day was less fruitful than he might have hoped.

By the third day, he was on a first name basis with the library guards.

On the fourth day his studies had to be cut short because he needed a drink, and the drink ended up getting lost in the crowd of its fellows, and he spent most of the day and all of the night looking for it. On the fifth day he was not allowed into the library.

By the sixth day he had managed to convince the whole staff aside from the Head Librarian to call him by his first name.

On the seventh day he started bringing his own drinks.

The eighth day brought overheard complaints from the edge of his hearing, and hesitant glances from the staff.

On the tenth day, the Head Librarian offered him a discount should he opt to accept their expertise after all. Niero refused. It was personal now.

By the twelfth day his collection of bottles was taking up more space than his work desk, even after he had reused – and melted – many of them in the course of his alchemical experiments. He donated the empty bottles to his favorite tavern and got a bottle of _most excellent_ brandy in return.

After two weeks, he found he could smell his work space when he returned to it in the morning. Someone had left a potted jungle plant on his desk. It smelled like carrion. He never found out which wag had left it there.

On the fifteenth night, Niero thought, _no_.

lIlIl

Niero had gone looking for Mogashi. _There_ was a native of the jungle who should be able to tell him anything he could think to ask. In theory. He could not believe he had not thought of it before. As brutish as the man might be, he was not stupid.

Well...

Anyway, Niero would have to scourge some more jungle again, and Mogashi seemed like the person to have at his side for that sort of thing. However, Eleder was large as towns went, and he had problems finding the man. He had spent some time looking for him on his own, but at last he had to resign to forking out some gold in order to get directions.

Gold! Niero would not have paid _copper_ for the instructions he had been given. The first man to take his money had told him where "the knuckle-dragger camp" lay, and to follow the deepest set of grooves. Cursing under his breath, Niero had stalked that way, only to be confronted with the _worst sort of pit_ he had ever found a person voluntarily living in – and tried though he had, he had not managed to erase the memory of that cannibal camp from his memory. He had ended up having to pay gold to another of Mogashi's people before he finally found the man. By this time he did not mind doing so, so strong was his desire to be done with the place.

lIlIl

Mogashi had shot a most suspicious look at Niero upon learning what he was needed for. No surprises there. What _was_ surprising was that the man was literate enough to help. That discovery had spurred Niero into taking the Mwangi to the library that same day.

It might have been worth it simply to see the expressions of the guards and staff of the library, but the humor was diluted somewhat by the effort it took to convince them all that Niero _did_ genuinely intend to bring the man inside. Mogashi had stood still through the whole conversation, arms crossed in stony silence until Niero eventually managed to wheedle the opposition into granting him admittance with the tacit implication that the research would now be concluded in good time.

That was three days ago.

The growth rate of their collection of empty bottles had kept pace with that of the staff's misgivings. Niero had the impression that someone was always keeping an eye on them, and Mogashi was convinced of it.

And now the Head Librarian was approaching their workspace with a look that suggested he had tried and failed to relegate the errand to his underlings.

_Here we go,_ Niero thought, turning in his chair to face the elf.

"How do you do, master Brandt," said the librarian

"How do you do," said master Brandt.

"I find I should again extend my offer for a discount on research assistance." The man's words gave every impression of being carefully chosen, perhaps even rehearsed. "I trust you will agree that your progress thus far has been... modest_._ However, through your perseverance in your efforts you have already supported our archives substantially enough that I am prepared to assign an assistant to your cause for free."

The librarian took a breath and was about to continue, so Niero intercepted quickly. "I thank ye for your kind gesture, but it willn't be necessary. Me comrade and I're learnin' all _manner_ of fascinatin' things here, and makin' fair advancement besides. So thank ye for th'offer, but it shan't be needed." So saying, Niero turned back to his books, hoping that the man would take the hint and leave.

He did not. Niero felt the librarian's eyes fixed steadily on the back of his head. "I will be frank, master Brandt. While we naturally trust your keen judgment in companions, as the patron of these studies of yours I must express my doubts as to the potential utility of the specimen you have chosen to―"

"Fuck you, fairy man," Mogashi growled, staring levelly at the man behind Niero's back.

Niero jumped in hastily. It would not _do_ to be deprived of their only source of information on account of such trifles as injured egos. "What my world-wise colleague _imports_, good book-keeper, is 'e _takes exception_ to implications – howe'er _unfortuitously communicated_ – of a nature _undermining_ of 'is character. Isn'at so, Mogashi, mate?" He followed that up with a furious wiggling of his eyebrows.

"_If you say so,_" the Mwangi ground out, eyeballing the elf over Niero's shoulder murderously.

"I... see," said the librarian. His voice seemed to be coming from a step or two further away than last time. "Then I shall... have faith. Good day to you, sir...s." After a moment of listening to the sound of receding footsteps, Niero shot a discreet glance behind him to make sure there was no troop of armed soldiers about to pick up where the librarian left off. Satisfied that there was not, he turned back to Mogashi, who thrust his book away with a violent swipe.

Niero caught it before it hit the floor. "Look 'ere. I un'erstand tha' this ain't your strong suit, an' I'll grant tha' yonder elf's an ass, but there's booty down the line for this one, so I need ya to bear wi' it for a while longer, ey?"

Mogashi let out a gravelly sigh. "Why aren't we just taking them up on that offer?"

_Because._ "Because if I'm right 'bout this, there may be more takers for this info than good ol' us, see? I dun' wanna have to race half o' whole Eleder to these ruins, an' involvin' more folk in this will just fly in th'face o' that, yeah?"

"Fine," Mogashi grated, and that was that.

Two days later, after having called up Kailn – and with him, Malje – to do the research in their stead, Niero and Mogashi set out on a tavern crawl to wash away their memories of the whole fiasco.

lIlIl

Sujiu was sitting slightly apart from his fellow caravan guards, watching one of them harass a wench while the others hooted at the spectacle. The man in question was a vile, foul-mouthed little sellsword named Dzac, who, no matter how drunk he got, never seemed to stop pissing on about everything that was not Dzac. Still, as drunk as the man was, Sujiu doubted he would have to step in. From the way the serving girl's hand kept straying to her hip, he was fairly sure she was packing a knife. And if her knife did end up in Dzac, why, then Sujiu would simply have to order another ale and slip in a generous tip for her.

That was when Niero and Mogashi walked in. More than one head turned as they entered, followed by most of the rest as Niero hailed Sujiu. Sujiu raised his arm in reply and indicated a pair of vacant chairs at his table.

This did not escape Dzac, though it did allow the wench to escape him.

"Oy, elfling! You know this monkey-man?"

"Watch it or I'll carve you down to the size of one," Mogashi growled.

"Well, well... I'll be damned, it fuckin' talks. It take you long to teach 'im these tricks, Shoo-you? I hope they don't grow in no goddamned trees, these mutants? You grow in a tree, o Lord o' the Apes?"

Some of the noise was dying down around them, and most of the place's clientele looked somewhat more alert now, expecting a fight. Niero was speaking in a low voice to Mogashi, who was trying to push past him.

Sujiu tried to step in. "You don't want to pick this fight, Dzac. Mogashi, never mind that guy, he's always like that – drunk and rude both, there's no―"

"Shyeah, you heard the half-blood, Mongi Shongi... You don't want this fight, so go climb some trees or fuck a few o' your demon sisters, make a few more o' you while you're at it, why don't you... Oh! Oh, I know! You go and find yourself a nice orangutan missus and breed _real hard_ and we'll set up this _circus_―"

Mogashi threw Niero off and lunged over to where the man was sitting. Dzac had just enough time to draw a weapon, but by then Mogashi had gripped him and lifted him clear over his head. Mogashi brought him down head first on the table, hard. There was a sharp _crack_ as the table broke into pieces, followed by a thunderous clamor as the whole room erupted into a brawl.

lIlIl

The only three people to walk out the door under their own power were Niero and his friends. And a fine-looking bunch _they_ were. Mogashi was fuming and growling and bleeding in half a dozen places and snarling like only a thiefling could, occasionally clenching a fist, while Sujiu, his face smeared with blood from a cut around his hairline, was sporting a stony expression and an icy silence to match. He was staring straight ahead and clenching his jaw.

Finished with his brief assessment of his companions, it occurred to Niero to spare a thought as to how _he_ must appear to the undiscerning eye, strolling the streets as he was, just as bloody and equipped with enough vials and bottles to stand fair comparison with a respectable bar shelf and smelling of smoke and spirits and unidentifiable alchemical compounds. Come to think of it, he had not had much trouble from any stray dogs recently, even when crawling out of disreputable boozers in the dead of night on all fours and howling like the moon was full. Was _that_ why?

You know what? Perhaps it was.

Huh.

Niero noticed he was smoking. Some of his more fragile – and, to be fair, even his _less_ fragile glass containers had broken in the fray. He had shaken the worst of the shards out of his clothes, but getting rid of the substances themselves – every one of which _richly deserved_ to be imprisoned in a glass vial and tucked in a lightless pocket – _that_ was simply not possible in the middle of a street. So on Niero walked in his slowly dissolving clothes and a cloud of acid fumes that seemed to be originating from somewhere inside his pants.

"Blood an' thunder," Niero mumbled.

"What's that?" Mogashi grunted.

"Nothin'. Just sparin' a thought for th'heroes o' our time."

No one cared to comment on that. After a while, Niero turned to Mogashi. "Y'know... I think ya killed tha' first guy you grabbed."

Mogashi spat out a wad of something he probably bit off someone in the heat of things and made no reply.

Niero then turned to Sujiu. "Th'guy was a member o' your company, right? I 'ope this'sn't too much of a... problem. "

"His demise will have to pass unlamented," Sujiu said flatly.

_Might've guessed_, Niero thought to himself.

"Don't give me that look," the half-elf said. "He had it coming, and I don't mean because of what he said."

"Right."

Silence.

"Say, Sujiu, you interested in an enterprise?"

Sujiu sighed. "Does it take us out of the city?"

"Yah."

"Go on."

* * *

**A/N: The Knowledge (Geography) check DC Niero had to meet was 20. He needed to roll 13 to succeed. He got one check per day, and really did fail sixteen times in a row (possibly fifteen) – and he didn't actually skip days like in the story; I wanted the number of nights to be fifteen for purposes of inside humor. Much fun was had. I don't remember how many times Mogashi failed at it (his bonus was actually slightly lower than Niero's), but I think it was four or five. Kailn, who doesn't know bugger-all about no Geography, got it on his third try, if I recall.**


	6. Chapter 6: Transition

**A/N: In spite of my having decided not to try to hold on to the larger narrative, I found that I still wanted to write about the group. There is at least one more scene I intend to write, providing the character involved lives long enough to see it.**

**My apologies for the lack of context these scenes take place in from an outside-reader point of view. Some facts will be provided at the end of this chapter. The reasons for the discontinuation of this story are given on my profile page.**

* * *

Malje felt power of her _prayer_ settle over the battlefield. It was like a fine mist, in more than one way; often the strengthened presence of whichever deity smiled on her efforts would crowd out the other voices, but sometimes the reverse held and they came stronger. A word here, a feeling there. A slight tug on the sleeve of her tunic. Death was always with her, but Death also came at her call. It _would_, of course. Wasn't as though it had a will, much less one to oppose hers.

The neothelid (as Niero had named it) writhed and squirmed before Mogashi's assault. Niero had just closed the distance between himself and the monster and was about to join the fray. Kuros and Kailn were hanging back, readying their next spells.

She saw something bulge under the skin of the abomination's throat.

A voice from nowhere hissed, _"It comes__―__"_

―somewhere inside the numinous shell held together by Malje's will, Mogashi roared, _"Watch o―!"_

Faster than anyone had expected, something exploded out of the neothelid's maw. A wall of something hit Malje, burning through her armor, her clothes, her skin, her bones. She opened her mouth to scream. It was filled with pain, too, and soon vanished.

She didn't feel herself fall backwards, nor see Kuros fall to the same attack behind her. There was a roaring in her skull she could never have recognized.

Her ears had never heard true silence before.

* * *

There was movement. Or an impression of it. What was moving, there was no telling. She? The world around her? Some fundamental essence that both were made of?

It felt familiar. Like the otherworldly forces she had known so long.

A thought came to her:

_Great._

And another:

_What is it this time?_

She forced focus into the evanescent sensations with a pure, reflexive application of her will. An impression came to her of moving _away_. She was not headed in any other direction, just _away_.

From what, though?

There was a residual... _something._ Something that didn't belong. Like a mist. It was weaker than the faintest smell, lighter than the gentlest breeze the most sensitive skin could ever have felt.

It felt like blasphemy. Not against any god or any other similar being of hot air and pompous nonimportance, but _her_. It offended her senses. She wasn't sure why, but it did.

She pushed it away, and it went.

* * *

The night sky wheeled above her. Rocks hung there in the heavens. Stars hung like motes caught in crepuscular rays against a shimmering black backdrop. A beautiful golden sun bobbed in place in what looked like very shallow water, sending out glimmering, translucent waves that lapped upon her bare feet. Moons underwent eclipses in seconds and revealed altered faces after. When her eyes turned to observe other things, the perspective shifted and she could see the other sides of the moons. Many things were moving in the distance, some of them in ways reminiscent of living creatures.

...

But if _that_ was the night sky, and if _those_ were the stars, what was that ray of light the stars were caught in?

...

It was confusing. She pursed her lips.

It occurred to her that she was lying down. She sat up and spent a moment beholding all the interesting things swimming in and out of her field of vision.

Must've been a _plane shift_ effect or something. That was a bit extreme, but hey.

The voices were back, too, she noticed. They sounded a bit different, but that was to be expected. Wasn't the only different thing about the place.

_Looks like business as usual from here on._

She came to her feet. The view from where she was standing was decent. She didn't feel hungry or sleepy so she took her time observing it, trying also to remember something about what she'd been told about the planes. The topic had never held much interest for her, but not knowing where she was would be something of a pain. How would she get back now? She couldn't _plane shift_, gods damn it. And floating rocks? She appeared to be standing on one right now.

Bah. This would take some doing.

A voice she recognized as belonging to Kuros came to her, but not through her ears. Oddly enough it sounded a lot like the ghostly chorus. It made sense; she was on another plane, and the ones who always nagged at her were also calling from other planes. Yes, that would be the reason.

_::Do you wish to be raised?::_ said Kuros's voice.

She didn't deign to answer that. She'd told the lot plenty of times she couldn't die. She was hardly about to start reiterating the point now.

Kuros's voice came again.

_::Would you like me to tell your family something, or for something to be done with your body?::_

She was hardly even listening anymore. Yeah, sure, something or other about her body. Right. She could see to that just fine, thank you very much. The mention of her family stirred something to the surface, though. Something about... What? Something missing.

_The cloak._

Her cloak was missing.

As were all her other clothes.

She rolled her eyes. It was such a drag.

All right, fine. So her clothes were gone. Fine. That meant her cloak had been left behind. That... Didn't please her. She was still considering what to do about that when Kuros spoke again.

_::Do you wish for your cloak to be taken to your family?::_

_Yes._ Yes, that would do.

There was a longish pause, and she thought the priest had already left. Then,

_::Will you grant Kailn his freedom?::_

She rolled her eyes. _Kailn serves me._ She didn't bother elaborating.

Again Kuros spoke. Funny how a living man could sound more deadpan than any ghost. _::Niero wishes to ask you, 'did you find this trip worth the walking?'::_

She sneered in derision. _Up yours, yokel._

Nothing more was said for a time. The break lasted just long enough for her to start thinking she'd regained her solitude.

_::Do you wish not to be raised?::_ Kuros finally said.

Ugh. Humans. She didn't bother thinking up a response.

And then Kuros said nothing more. She felt his presence fade, and she was alone.

Well, as alone as she ever was.

She took another good look at the plane. It seemed interesting in an unusual way, even if it was rather bleak. There was light and there were forms, but everything was so different. She shook her head to herself.

"It's just one dreary country after another, isn't it?"

She interrupted herself, frowning. Something was off. Her voice didn't sound right. It was different in some way the other voices weren't.

_Probably a feature of the ambience,_ she thought.

Her hair had come loose somewhere along the way. She swept it away from the back of her neck and started gathering it into her customary tight plaits.

Her fingers brushed against something strange―and froze.

An expression an aristocrat of her bearing would never have suffered anyone in all the planes to see came upon her face – one of pure shocked surprise. Other things came after that, but that brief moment would be a unique one for all of Malje's eternity.

Her ears were whole.

* * *

**A/N: Malje was an aristocrat half-elf oracle with death-themed powers who believed she couldn't die. As an infant, her ears were mutilated to look more human to avoid scandal. The plane she ended up in was the Maelstrom. Kailn served her family as a butler slave until their falling-out with Malje's family in Cheliax. Kuros is a cleric who replaced Sujiu, who was killed way back at level four. At the time of these events, all characters were 12th level.**


End file.
